"Me?"
"I looked forward to being a help—at least not a trouble to you, Martin."
"And so you will be. Why shouldn't you?"
"Martin," I said (I knew what I was doing, but I couldn't help doing it), "wouldn't it injure you to marry me . . . being what I am now . . . in the eyes of the world, I mean?"
He looked at me for a moment as if trying to catch my meaning, and then snatched me still closer to his breast.
"Mary," he cried, "don't ask me to consider what the damnable insincerities of society may say to a case like ours. If you don't care, then neither do I. And as for the world, by the Lord God I swear that all I ask of it I am now holding in my arms."
That conquered me—poor trembling hypocrite that I was, praying with all my soul that my objections would be overcome.
In another moment I had thrown my arms about my Martin's neck and kissed and kissed him, feeling for the first time after my months and years of fiery struggle that in the eyes of God and man I had a right to do so.
And oh dear, oh dear! When Martin had gone back to his work, what foolish rein I gave to my new-born rapture!
I picked baby up from the hearthrug and kissed her also, and then took her into the dairy to be kissed by her grandmother, who must have overheard what had passed between Martin and me, for I noticed that her voice had suddenly become livelier and at least an octave higher.